


Helping Hands

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Steve/Tony, Bottom Clint Barton, Casual Sex, Coulson Lives, M/M, Not Age of Ultron Compliant, Top Phil Coulson, background Darcy/Bruce, dirty talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, are you um, seeing anybody now?”</p><p>Coulson stared at him a long moment, one eyebrow lifting at the obvious bulge in Clint's sweatpants. “No,” Coulson answered. “Not for almost six months now. And you haven't seen anybody since before that.”</p><p>Of course, Coulson would know how long it had been since Clint got laid. He'd been down to his own hand for somewhere just shy of a year and he hadn't even had the relief of that in the couple of weeks since his hands got burned. He nodded anyway, his cheeks flushing. Was he going to do this? Ask Coulson to be his fuck buddy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).



> ***  
> So, the lovely and talented AdamantSteve wrote me some excellent porn the other day when I was having a rough time and I wanted to give a little something back. She requested some casual/meaningless sex between our boys. 4000 words later you have this, not beta read and pretty lacking on plot.
> 
> For purposes of this story, the Avengers are a team but AoU hasn't happened yet and oh yeah, Phil didn't die. *handwaves MCU*
> 
> ***

Clint kicked the door to Coulson's office closed with his foot and then stomped across the room before letting out an irritated huff when Coulson didn't even acknowledge his presence. He dropped his after-action report on Coulson's desk and then plopped down onto the sofa with more force than necessary, not bothering to toe off his shoes before stretching out.

 

Coulson didn't bother looking up from the stack of papers he was methodically working his way through. “How much longer until the bandages come off?”

 

“Doc says another week, but I'm pretty sure I won't make it that long.” Clint held his hands up in front of his face and wiggled both thumbs. All his other fingers as well as the palms of both hands were wrapped up in thick white bandages. He felt like he had on thumbless mittens. “It fucking sucks. I can't shoot, I can't fly the quinjet, I can't workout, I can't eat anything that won't fit through a straw unless I have help, I can't even work a Stark pad.”

 

“You can't do your own paperwork,” Coulson added, frowning as he picked up Clint's report and slashed through a few lines of text before writing a corrected note along the side. “Seriously, who filled this out for you? It's awful.”

 

“It was a group effort.” Clint muttered. And it had been, Clint dictating with some color commentary from Tony and Darcy filling out the papers. Only Clint had still been pretty high on pain meds and Darcy and Tony had been almost to the bottom of a bottle of tequila. There may have been a few artistic renderings of unicorns in the margins.

 

But at least they'd gotten something down on paper before Darcy started waxing poetic about how well Bruce filled out his pants and Tony wandered off to find Steve. About fifteen minutes later Clint had been treated to the sounds of what seemed like a bizarre dueling banjos contest, only with what seemed to be competitive fucking instead of music. And while he'd have to give the prize for most athletic fucking to Tony and Steve based on all the sounds of bodies being thrown against the walls and furniture moving, he was pretty sure the resounding low moans and high pitched squeals coming from Bruce's room put Team Banner over the edge – at least on orgasm count.

 

It had all been extremely frustrating to the guy who had new skin grafted onto the chemical burns on his hands and was currently between relationships. Way between. Listening to real life porno sounds when he had no way of actually getting off ratcheted up Clint's discontent to the tenth power. He'd spent the night tossing and turning in his bed and most of the morning snapping at anyone who so much as looked his way until Steve had not so subtly suggested Clint hand-deliver his report to SHIELD.

 

Truthfully, he hadn't really been expecting to find Coulson in his office on a Sunday afternoon. He'd planned on camping out in Coulson's office for a while just so he'd have a different ceiling to stare at. Coulson had long since stopped trying to keep Clint out and now the door sensors were calibrated to unlock for Clint as well as Coulson. Clint liked to sprawl out on the ancient leather sofa in Coulson's office.

 

He'd pretty much counted on Coulson being out doing whatever it was that well-dressed yet deadly government official types did on the weekend. Probably with the musician lady that had a permanent “something smells” look on her face. Coulson had brought her as a date to a couple of the public relation events the Stark Foundation put on; the events that Clint thought were probably more a “whoops, sorry we smashed up the city” thing than anything else.

 

Aubrey? Audrey? Clint hadn't exactly hated her on sight or anything, but he hadn't been overly impressed with her either. She just hadn't seemed like the right match for Coulson, who could be by turns cold as ice, a giant dork, or a certified bad ass. Not that Clint had given thought to Phil Coulson's love life. Well, not _much_ thought. At least not in the cold light of day, when he wasn't jerking off to the idea of just how efficient Coulson must be in bed. But he didn't need to be having those thoughts right now, not with weeks worth of sexual frustration built up.

 

Clint rolled over on the couch so he was facing Coulson, studying him. “No suit,” he said for no reason in particular except Coulson still hadn't bothered to look at him. Coulson was wearing a soft looking vneck sweater. The cut of it emphasized the broadness of his shoulders and if Coulson would stop being rude and actually look at him, Clint was pretty sure the deep blue would make the blue of Coulson's eyes pop. There was a faint tan line at the base of Coulson's throat, where the skin was usually covered by his customary suit and collared shirt. The skin on the little exposed vee of Coulson's chest was a shade or two lighter, and Clint could just see a smattering of dark chest hair.

 

Coulson frowned at the paper again, his forehead furrowed and his eyes going narrow behind the dark frames of his eyeglasses. Clint's dick gave an interested little twitch in his sweatpants. Coulson was pretty much the most intense guy Clint had ever been around, and the glasses seemed to amplify the intensity of his focus even more. Coulson in glasses _did_ things to Clint.

 

“Hey,” he croaked, and yeah, Clint's throat might have gone a little dry after a long moment of considering being the the subject of Phil Coulson's intensity. “Hey,” he tried again. “It's a Sunday with no world ending emergency on the horizon. Shouldn't you be out having brunch or going to a museum or something with whats-her-face? You know, doing couple type stuff?”

 

Coulson let out a long suffering sigh and signed off on the report before placing it in his outbox. He finally _finally_ looked up at Clint from across the expanse of his desk. “Audrey moved to Portland a few months ago. And, not that it's any of your business, but we were just friends.”

 

Clint made an exaggerated disappointed face, “She friendzoned you? That sucks, Sir.”

 

Coulson's mouth twitched as he took in Clint's disheveled appearance. “No, Barton. We were only ever going to be friends, she was missing something that's a requirement in my romantic partners.” His gaze zeroed in on Clint's feet. “Are you wearing flip flops?”

 

Clint waggled his thumbs. “Limited options. Everything I'm wearing is easy on and easy off. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to get into real clothes with nothing but your thumbs.”

 

Coulson's eyes drifted up Clint's body, seeming to linger just a moment on the sliver of skin at his waist where his tshirt had rucked up and his sweatpants had slipped down. “So I see.”

 

“This Audrey chick didn't have a sense of humor, did she?” Clint scratched inefficiently at the little line of dark blond hair that trailed down his belly with one thumb, Coulson's eyes following the movement. “She seemed a little uptight.”

 

“What?” Coulson gave Clint the same narrow-eyed stare he'd been directing at his report a few minutes earlier. “Audrey has a great sense of humor.”

 

“Oh, well you said she was missing something that was a requirement.” Clint made a little motion with his hand, wincing when the bandages pulled tight. “No sense of adventure? Sex with the lights off, curtains drawn, missionary style only?”

 

“Oh for, Christsakes. She's missing a dick, Barton.” Coulson snapped out. “You're Hawkeye, the guy who can see everything and never misses. We've been working closely together for years now. How the hell have you missed that I'm gay?” Coulson slapped both of his palms down on his desk for emphasis. “I like dick, Barton. I like sucking it, I like jerking it, I like fucking into a tight ass and knowing when I hit just the right spot I can make that dick come without ever laying a hand on it.”

 

Clint's mouth dropped open. He'd had more than a passing thought about Coulson's sex life over the years but it had never occurred to him that Mr. Straight and Narrow, by the book, rules are made to be followed, former Army Ranger Phil Coulson, could be anything other than heterosexual. Coulson had been the unwitting star of probably dozens of Clint's fantasies, but it was usually the “trapped together in a blizzard, sharing a sleeping bag for heat” type fantasy where Coulson's straightness was reluctantly overcome by Clint's roaming hands and excellent cocksucking skills. Only, it seemed that Clint's fantasies had gotten things wrong.

 

All wrong.

 

Clint swallowed, his throat gone dry again. “I see better from a distance,” he said feebly. He shifted around on the couch until he was mostly sitting up, his legs sprawled out and spread open. He was aware that the position did nothing to hide his dick's response to Coulson's words and Jesus fucking Christ if Coulson had such a filthy mouth on him now, how much filthier would he be buried balls deep in Clint's ass. “So, are you um, _seeing_ anybody now?”

 

Coulson stared at him a long moment, one eyebrow lifting at the obvious bulge in Clint's sweatpants. “No,” Coulson answered. “Not for almost six months now. And you haven't _seen_ anybody since before that.”

 

Of course, Coulson would know how long it had been since Clint got laid. He'd been down to his own hand for somewhere just shy of a year and he hadn't even had the relief of that in the couple of weeks since his hands got burned. He nodded anyway, his cheeks flushing. Was he going to do this? Ask Coulson to be his fuck buddy?

 

Yeah, he kind of thought he was.

 

Clint cleared his throat. “I've got a dick, a pretty nice one.” He hitched his hips up just a little bit, his dick fully hard and pressing against the soft material of his pants.

 

Coulson looked at him from over the top of his glasses. Consideringly. “That's yet to be determined, Barton.”

 

Clint's cheeks burned because Coulson was going to make him say it. “Fair enough, but I think we can agree that my ass is spectacular.”

 

This time Coulson gave him a nod, “No argument on that one.”

 

Clint licked his lips. “I give great head, Sir. I mean, I'm really good at sucking dick. Really good.”

 

Coulson's lips did a little half twist, but otherwise he showed no outward reaction to Clint's words. There was another long moment while Clint fought not to squirm under Coulson's examination and then finally Coulson gave a little nod. He pushed a button under the edge of his desk and Clint heard the automatic locks engage on the door.

 

Coulson pushed back from the desk then, his hand sliding down to snag something out of his desk drawer. Every second of silence seemed to make Clint's heart beat faster, his pulse pounding in his ears as Coulson crossed over to him. He was wearing faded jeans that clung to well-muscled thighs, his erection straining against the crotch. Not as unaffected as he'd seemed, Clint thought. Good to know.

 

“You're sure?” Coulson asked, his hands hovering over his zipper.

 

Clint nodded, “Hell, yeah. Come on, Sir.” Fuck, another minute and he'd be begging for it. His mouth was watering already, his eyes locked on the bulge in Coulson's pants.

 

“Good. Let's just be clear that this is between Phil and Clint. Coulson and Barton aren't involved. You understand what I'm saying?” Coulson asked.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. You and me have a little fun off the clock. Everything else stays the same.” Clint agreed. And that was just like Coulson – _Phil_ – wanting the parameters to be clear before any lines were crossed. Clint tried to cup a hand over his dick, pain forcing him to abort the movement, settling for stroking his thumb over the little wet-spot where the head of his dick was leaking against his pants. “Come on, Phil.”

 

Phil unbuttoned his jeans and pushed down the zipper without another word. He stripped with an economy of motion, toeing off his shoes and socks, stepping neatly out of his jeans and boxers and then pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it on top of the pile. He was all lean muscle and broad shoulders and his dick jutted out proudly.

 

Clint licked his lips again. Fuck, he'd never thought Phil was packing something that big.

 

“Now show me what you can do with your mouth.” Phil reached out and buried one hand in Clint's hair, tugging him forward until Clint's mouth opened around his dick.

 

Clint struggled to keep his hands still, wanting to touch but knowing that the bandages made it impossible. He focused on the feel of Phil's dick breaching his mouth, the thick head slick and wet with precome and so good on his tongue. Clint pushed his head forward, stretching his mouth wide as he welcomed the feeling. God, it had been too long since he'd had his lips sliding over a cock. And, other than a few fantasies, he'd never thought he'd know what Phil's dick tasted like, the mix of sweat and bitter precome, the raw smell of man as Phil pushed further into Clint's mouth until his balls were pressed against Clint's chin.

 

Clint wanted to gag on it, wanted Phil to fuck into his mouth until tears were streaming from his face. He wanted a mouthful of cock and a bellyful of come. But Phil wouldn't be rushed, his movements steady and slow as he slowly withdrew and then thrust forward while Clint whimpered and moaned and strained to suck him in further. He tongued the slit and traced the ridge where the head met the shaft with frenzied strokes of his tongue, lapping up each little drop of precome. He could do this for hours, Clint thought, forcing his throat to relax so Phil could thrust all the way in. The big head of Phil's dick was enough to choke him when it slid smoothly into his throat and Phil held it there a beat too long before pulling completely out.

 

Clint let out a frustrated groan, straining to get his mouth back around Phil's dick. Phil held him still with his hand in Clint's hair, tugging Clint's head up until they were looking at each other. “You weren't lying about your mouth, Clint, but I want to fuck your ass full of my come. You on board with that?”

 

Clint shuddered, a sharp stab of desire streaking through him. Phil's filthy mouth was going to be the end of him. “So, on board. You don't even know,” he managed. He tried to fumble his pants down but Phil beat him to it. He released his hold on Clint's head and levered him up on his feet.

 

“Let's get these clothes off first,” Phil stripped Clint much more slowly than he'd shed his own clothes. His hands lingered over the curve of Clint's ass then slowly slid along the planes of Clint's chest and back. He wrapped a hand around Clint's cock and gave it an easy stroke, fist clenching around it just tight enough to mix a little pain in with the pleasure. “You weren't lying about this either. Not just pretty nice, either. Gorgeous.”

 

“Thanks,” Clint managed only barely stopping himself from coming just from the touch of Phil's hand. Hell, he'd never be able to look at Phil's hands again without remembering how it felt to be at this man's mercy.

 

Phil stepped forward, his hand still stroking Clint's dick as he put his mouth right up to Clint's ear. “Next time you get back from a mission, you come find me before you shower. Let me suck you off when you're still on an adrenaline high.” He clamped his hand down around the base of Clint's cock when he spoke, like he knew his words would push Clint right over the edge without Phil's fingers acting like a cockring.

 

“Fuck,” Clint ground out. His whole body went tight and tense until the immediate need to come receded just a little bit. “Get your dick in me.”

 

Phil let out a little laugh and stepped back. He gave Clint's dick one easy stroke before letting go. “I'm going to put you where I want you. No weight on those hands.”

 

Clint let himself be positioned, each touch of Phil's hand a tease as he maneuvered Clint just how he wanted him. He ended up facing the wall, kneeling on the couch with his forearms braced on the back of the couch. Phil let out a little sound of approval, the same sound Clint had heard a thousand time over innocuous things. And fuck it all, but Clint knew every time Phil made that sound from here on out Clint would get hard over it.

 

“Perfect,” Phil said at last, his hands sliding down to squeeze Clint's ass. Phil was standing behind him, Clint's ass at just the right height to take his dick. “This ass was made to be fucked.” He pushed his dry thumb against Clint's hole, pressing just enough to make Clint push back against the pressure. “I'll have to eat it out sometime soon. See if it tastes as good as it looks.” He said it the same way he'd talk about eating at a new restaurant.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Clint muttered. “You're killing me here.”

 

Phil gave Clint a smack on the ass and then reached down for the little bottle he'd retrieved from his desk. One finger pressed against Clint's hole, this time slick with something. He pressed it in slowly, “You should see yourself like this, your little hole opening up for my finger. So tight.” He pushed his finger in and out a few times before adding another, scissoring Clint open.

 

Clint pushed back into the stretch of Phil's efficient fingers. It had been so long since he'd had anything inside him other than his own fingers or the sad little dildo he fucked himself with when he was desperate. “Feels good.”

 

“Mmmm,” Phil agreed, adding a third lubed up finger in and working them in and out faster as Clint's hole relaxed a little bit. “I can't wait to see this tight little hole all sloppy and loose with my come dripping out of it.”

 

His fingers brushed across Clint's prostate and Clint bucked back for more. Between Phil's fingers and his filthy mouth, he was hanging on by a thread. It was all he could do to keep from screaming in frustration by the time Phil finally pulled his fingers out and pressed the head of his cock against Clint's sensitized hole.

 

Clint expected another slow slide in like when Phil was in his mouth, but Phil locked his hands around Clint's hips and forced past the ring of muscle in one sharp thrust. His thick cock was buried balls deep and the stretch was tinged with enough pain to make Clint lose his breath. Phil stayed pressed inside, giving Clint time to adjust to the intrusion, shifting just enough that Clint lost his breath again when the pleasure started radiating out from where Phil's dick was spreading him open.

 

Just as he was about to scream at Phil to move, to fuck him, to do something, Phil started pulling out and pushing back in. The short little thrusts were just enough to make Clint's vision go white around the edge, the sensation of being filled and stretched mixing with the delicious burst of pleasure each time Phil's dick rubbed across his prostate on the backstroke. Fuck, Phil was playing him like a goddamn musical prodigy played the piano, each move calculated to draw out the most response until Clint felt like his body was going to meltdown from the inside out.

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint moaned. He arched back into each thrust as Phil worked him deeper, starting to move faster. Phil's dick slid out far enough that the head just caught on the rim of Clint's hole before he slammed back in. Clint could feel Phil's hands clenched down on his hips, tight enough to leave a bruise. _Please let there be bruises._ Phil was really fucking into him now, his cock surging forward and filling up all that emptiness until Clint couldn't tell where he ended and where Phil began.

 

“Gonna fill you up.” Phil growled, bottoming out with each forward stroke. One hand snaked around to give Clint's cock a quick jerk until Clint came with a shout. His ass clamped down of Phil's cock just as Phil gave another thrust. Then Phil was following him over the edge, hot come pulsing into Clint's ass as Phil rode it out, buried to the hilt.

 

Clint let his head fall forward to brace on his forearms, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Phil was still pressed inside him, half curving over Clint's back. They stayed like that for a long moment, Phil's weight just heavy enough to keep Clint grounded. Then Phil was pulling out, his fingers rubbing the drops of his come into the skin of Clint's ass as they slid out of his hole.

 

“Knew you'd look good like that.” Phil said. There was a self-satisfied tone to his voice that made Clint bite his lip to keep from saying something in response. Phil dipped a finger back into his ass, murmuring. “Still tight though. Don't move.” He gave Clint another little caress before stepping back.

 

Clint's eyes slid closed and he tried not to think about the fact that he was still ass up in the middle of Phil's office. He could hear Phil moving around behind him, the sound of the door to his private bathroom opening and then running water. A moment later Phil was back, running a wet cloth over Clint to clean him up before helping him to his feet.

 

There were both quiet as Phil helped him back into his clothes. Now comes the awkward part, Clint thought. Probably time for a talk on how this couldn't happen again, if he had to hazard a guess. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he watched Phil dress.

 

When Phil had himself put to rights, he took a moment to wipe off the leather couch where it was shiny with a smattering of Clint's come. Then he straightened, walked back to his desk and gathered together a few files.

 

Clint waited a minute, his brow furrowed with confusion as Phil started sliding the files into his briefcase. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer, saying “So, we good here?”

 

Phil looked up at him, and Clint had been right, the sweater made his eyes look impossibly blue. “We're good, Barton.”

 

_Back to Barton now, not Clint._ It was like the past hour or so had never happened. Clint swallowed the knot in his throat. “Great,” Clint muttered. Coulson wasn't even looking at him anymore, his attention back on his briefcase. “I guess I'll head out then.”

 

Clint was nearly to the door when he remembered the goddamn bandages on his hands. He turned to ask for help but Coulson was already behind him, his hand reaching past Clint to open the door.

 

Coulson leaned in just a fraction too close, so close Clint could smell himself on the other man. Sweat and come and the scent of raw fucking. It made his breath catch.

 

Coulson gave him a smile as he stepped back, his hand brushing across Clint's back as Clint stepped out into the hallway. “And Barton, you know I'm always glad to lend a helping hand when you need it.”

 

Clint felt his cheeks flushing, his own mouth curving into a smile. So, maybe not just Coulson and Barton. Maybe Phil and Clint would be back as well. “Yes, Sir.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
